


Heavy In Your Arms

by hismementomori



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14821508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hismementomori/pseuds/hismementomori
Summary: You start to doubt your relationship with Benny.





	Heavy In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by still-dreamingx3: Hi there! Maybe you could write some angst but with a happy ending. Reader is insecure and thinjs that she is not good enough (you can choose if you want to be more specific) for John or Benny (I'd prefer Benny but both are fine ;)) but he tells/shows the reader that she is good enough. With fluff at the end.
> 
> I hope this alright. :(

The kettle has whistled at you for the last thirty seconds, but your eyes stare out of the kitchen window, not looking at anything in particular, but wishing you were out there, floating along the clouds. “You alright, cher,” comes the Cajun draw behind you. You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice, even though there’s a high pitched whistling that should’ve caught your attention first. 

“What? Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth and rush to the stove, turning off the burner and moving the kettle. 

“We both know it’s not use to lie around me,” Benny clicks his tongue, leaning against the counter as you start on your tea. “Talk.”

You avoid looking up at all costs, pouring the boiling hot water over your tea bag and being to steep it. Maybe if you take long enough, he’ll forget about it and walk away. Unfortunately for you, Benny has all the time in the world and he’ll spend it right there in the kitchen, waiting. “I saw the picture,” you confess, staring down at your cup, watching the water darken. “She’s beautiful.”

There’s a heavy sigh to your left and you can see him scrub a hand over his face, “She was, yeah. But she’s no longer here, Y/N. We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

“You didn’t tell me she was gorgeous, Benny,” you finally turn to look at him. It’s obvious that you’re not only jealous, but hurt. He’s talked about Andrea before, told you their story and how it ended, a tragedy fit for Shakespeare. You knew he loved her more than his own life, defying his maker to go live the rest of his days with her, so how could he ever feel that way about someone again? About you?

“You’re beautiful,” he insists, pushing off the counter to you, wrapping his large arms around you. He’s not warm, but his a comforting presence, one that helps you sleep better than any med a doctor would prescribe you. He’s your drug, just as dangerous and addictive as any pill. He’s bad for you, but it feels good to have him, you’d give your life just to take a hit.

Your body goes limp in his hold, your face hiding away in his neck and you inhale his scent; it’s a thick earthy, spice with a tinge of copper. “This isn’t about how she looks, is it, cher,” he says, his lips pressed against your temple. “You’re doubting me.” He feels you stiffen against him and he holds you tighter, “You think I don’t love you?”

“No,” you lie again, squeezing your eyes close to stop the sting of tears. “Yes.”

He pulls away from you, taking you by your shoulders and squeezes them. You know he wants you to open your eyes, to look in those deep oceans of blue and see the truth. Stubbornly, your eyes remain closed and he stands there, just as mulish, and waits. The clock ticks on the far side of the room and you know your tea is getting cold, so you give in and your eyelashes flutter. “You took me in,” he says, “took me in when I had nothin’. You found out what I was and didn’t even bat an eye, just let me be me without a second thought. I could rip you apart, drain you of everything, but you stand by me. If I couldn’t love someone who is as loyal as you are beautiful, then I don’t deserve to love at all.”

His words hit you like a freight train and you choke on a sob. “I’m sorry,” you say weakly, your arms seaking his comfort, wrapping around his neck as he accepts you and pulls you close. “I know I shouldn’t, I just feel like…”

He shushes you with a kiss to your forehead and hugs you until your breathing evens. “Ca va,” he whispers. “We’re gonna draw you a warm bath with those silly bomb things you like and then I’m gonna reheat your tea and you’re gonna relax.”

Your heart clenches and you pull back to place a kiss to his lips, gentle and apologetic. “Maybe ice cream after,” you ask hopefully.

“Anything for you, cher,” he nods and leads you to the bathroom.


End file.
